IF ONLY
by Ibbledibble
Summary: If only I wasn't reaped. If only I wasn't awaiting death in the Capital. If only I wasn't fighting to kill. If only I wasn't dead. If only I could change the past. Rated T!
1. Chapter 1: Born to Kill

**Hey, so I'm having a short break from the story "A Fox's Way of Thinking" to co-write this story with TrackerJackson, who is an AMAZING writer! Go check her out! Like now.**

A shiver runs up my spine when my bare feet hit the ice cold floor in front if the door. I have taken off my slippers and now I am replacing them with my new sneakers. The door creaks when I open it and I flinch, waiting for one of the servants to retrieve me. No one comes, however, so I scurry out of the house before I can make any other noises. When I get to the cement driveway I consider taking the car to meet Lace, but then realize it'd make too much noise and maybe alert someone with the bright headlights in the morning darkness. I start to jog, using only the slight rays of the sun to illuminate my path. Perhaps I should have left a bit earlier; I want to get to our meeting spot before sunrise. I start to jog and luckily I make it there before the bright ball of light rises higher into the sky.

Lace is waiting for me behind her house, leaning against a white Ferrari that seems to glow in the dawn's dim haze.

I beam at it. "Got your new car, did you?"

Lace sighs, her breath rising up into the sky as a faint white cloud. "Yeah, but it's a really old model. I was hoping for at least a Lamborghini, but my parents get me this wreck? Still, I guess it's fast. Now you, Topaz, are lucky. I mean seriously? That Capital car you have? So awesome."

I laugh at her whining tone and she allows a small smile. We both know that, while money is important, if I offered her a car she'd turn it down. Still I've got to admit, her parents have been strangely cheap lately. I think Lace's mom lost her job, but I decide not to ask.

"Happy birthday!" I say holding out a small blue box.

Inside is a ring encrusted with diamonds. A small pearl lies in the center of what looks to be a golden reaping bowl. She squeals in joy when she sees it.

"See this is what I mean! Your family can even afford to get a pearl shipped from District 4! Did you make this?"

I nod, sheepishly, while she slips on the ring. "But you know, todays your big day too." I look at her quizzically.

"Um, Hunger Games? You're supposed to volunteer. Some people just get all the luck! Like you."

My stomach drops at the thought of the Games and I pale considerably.

"Oh yeah," I mumble, "The Games."

Lace tilts her head. "You don't sound exactly excited. You should perk up. I mean someone might think you don't want to compete in the Games."

I try to convincingly roll my eyes. "Of course I want to. Why else would I train for it in the first place?" I peer at the glowing clock installed in the dash board. "We better get going. The recaps are going to start soon."

We both slide into the back seat of the car, locking the doors. The lights of the Ferrari dim and a screen slides down from the ceiling, clicking on.

"…and now for last year's annual Hunger Games!"

The screen smash cuts to all the tributes standing around the Cornucopia. The arena was a desert last year. All the water was underground. Lace and I lean in, staring at the screen intently as it plays through all the highlights. My favorite tribute is a young fourteen year old boy, Kelets from District 3, but I already know he will die from a wild cat attack. Sure enough, halfway through the mini show, he dies spectacularly while I shake my head. The winner was, not surprisingly, a young man from District 1. The screen shuts off and we lean back, smiling. Last year was a very exciting Games. Hopefully it'll be a little more toned down this year, because I'm not looking forward to being killed.

A few hours have passed by now, which is remarkable seeing as they had to fit all of three weeks into three hours. For a moment we sit in silence, thinking about the annual event coming up.

Finally I speak, shattering the quiet, "I better get back home, before anyone knows I'm gone. It's already ten, plus I'm starving."

We both step out of the car, stretching before getting back in, this time in the front. While the walk seemed long the ride is quick and short. I bid Lace farewell and get out of the car, this time not bothering to be sneaky. Everyone should be awake by now and if I get chastised? Well there's nothing my parents can do, since the deed of sneaking out has already been performed. But only a minor servant sees me entering the mansion and, really, what can she do? She won't be able to tell anyone with her tongue cut off and all, so that's no matter.

A small breakfast is laid out on the table in front of me. Bread, eggs, bacon, orange juice and hot chocolate. I plop down onto the mahogany chair and start my meal, trying to make as much noise as possible. I hate the echoing quiet in the house. My mom and dad are probably out working right now, even though they don't have to. They'll be back for the reaping, I know they will. They love watching the Games even more then Lace and I. But until then I'm all alone in the house, excluding the Avoxs.

I stand up. I am done with breakfast. I don't eat that much, even when I am hungry, because of how small I am. I only weigh about 85 or 90 pounds, which could be an advantage in speed, but a disadvantage in strength. Speaking of which, I should get in some last minute training. I head to our private gym, which contains all kinds of weapons and training targets. I pick my favorite weapon, a thin sharp sword that's perfect for my size. I hold it in both hands and slice through the air. This is what I love about fighting. The swift, fluid motions. The graceful steps. It's almost like dancing, just with a sword. I slip lightly towards a training dummy and strike, hitting the mid neck. A fatal blow.

I practice more moves. I stab the dummy in the stomach, in the heart, in the head. Then I pretend to parry an oncoming attack, though this would hardly help me against any of the giant Careers. I dislike the heavy swings that most Careers use. It takes energy and power and it's harder to hit a quick opponent, while lighter swings are easier to handle. Plus they just make you look barbaric, not strong willed.

The hour passes quickly and soon I am covered in a thin sheen of sweat, my dirty blonde ringlets matted to my face in an unbecoming way. Still, I am not done. Panting slightly, I gingerly put my sword back onto a rack and grab a set of knives. I'm definitely better with a light sword than these curved daggers but chances are, there could be heavy swords in the arena instead of light ones and, in that case, throwing knives is my best bet. I have a certain strategy with these weapons when they come in sets. No matter what, I keep two of the longer daggers by my side. This way, I have a chance at protecting myself if someone attacks me in close range.

Next is archery, a skill that I'm not too good at. If worse comes to worst, I'll be able to handle a bow but I'm no hunter that can string the bow as quick as they hear the crunch of footsteps. This brings me to sneaking, which is one of my extremely bad qualities. It's a good thing I'm to be a Career because, unless the whole arena's ground is made of carpet, I'll be an elephant crashing through the forest. Although the arena floor _could _be made of sand, it's highly unlikely they'll recreate the desert from last year.

Eventually I end up exhausted but the faux enemies are pretty torn up and scratched. If I come back from the Hunger Games I'll have to ask to get them replaced. _When_, I mentally correct myself. _I _will _be coming back. _

I exit the gym and wearily climb up the stairs to my bedroom. I have a little over an hour to spare so I take my time. When I get to my bedroom I'm tempted to collapse onto the cool bed with satin throw pillows, and cashmere blankets, and a huge canopy from when I was five and obsessed with fancy things. But I don't. Instead I head over to another door. It opens to reveal a pristine bathroom with a shower and bathtub, a sink, and a toilet. There are also mirrors everywhere. I suppose whoever constructed the house obviously assumed we would enjoy looking at ourselves all day, and I suppose I am good looking. I just have better things to do then look in mirror all day. But I don't mind stares.

I climb into the tub and twist the faucet watching the crystal clear water fall out and pour into the tub. I've heard rumors of fancy buttons in the Capital that make soap pour out into the tub, but for now I have to deal with manually pouring in a bubble substance. I will experience the Capital on my own in a few hours anyway. I strip off my jean shorts, tee, and under clothes. I feel very vulnerable until I get into the tub and let the water close over me, suds and all submerging myself.

When I get out I dry my soaking body with a soft towel. My hair is almost completely straight with slight waves in it, until I blow-dry it, making it bounces back into its natural ringlets. I brush my hair and then walk to my wardrobe where my red dress is awaiting.

It's a pretty nice dress as far as plainer dresses go in District 1. A dark red with silver stitched sleeves that don't touch my shoulders, but instead hang tightly to my upper arms. Two thin straps hold it up, and of course the slightly brighter waste band is encrusted with rubies. It hangs at my knees, brushing them as I walk. My mother figured it would go with my honey eyes and brownish blonde hair. She was right. It looks spectacular on me. The red heels perfectly complete the look.

I part my curls into two pigtails, tying them up with bright red, silk ribbons. It's slightly annoying since they bounce around, lightly hitting my face, but I tell myself it will only be for a while.

For the final touch I add a hint of mascara and apply pink lipstick that makes my lips look full.

I turn to leave the room when suddenly I stumble. Quickly catching myself my eyes automatically dart towards the floor to see what has tripped me. From under my bed, a tin container is just visible, the corner sticking out. I kneel down curiously, prying open the box. It opens with a drawn out creak. I almost drop the box from what I see.

Inside are dusty cards, a black top hat, handkerchiefs all tied together, a stuffed rabbit, and many other things, all neatly stacked together. But most importantly, what brings back the most memories is a sliver chain with charms attached to it. I pick it up, blowing the dust off, and examine it in the artificial light.

The charms dangle, sparkling because of the small jewels imbedded in the metal. The bracelet contains a magic wand, a bunny sticking out of a top hat, three metal cards, a dove, and a detailed jewelry box. Each charm represents a magic show.

When I was younger I was obsessed with magic. It was supposed to be just a phase but even when it was time to go into training to be a Career. Then I started going public with my magic. The audience was delighted with my small slip of the hands. My parents? Not so much. They were embarrassed because of me. What had happened to their perfect little girl? My shows were cut short and my interest in magic abruptly cut off. Still I kept the box for the memories, but I have forgotten about it until now.

Returning from the past, I'm surprised to find a smile on my lips as I examine the box. The charm bracelet is on my wrist. Did I do that? I hide it under my flowing sleeve but don't bother to take it off. With a wistful sigh I close the box and tuck it back under the bed.

I get up and finish crossing the room. When I get to the doorway I glance back at my room, steeling my stomach. I am ready. I shut the door, closing off any sentimental memories with it.

My car is fast going to Lace's house to pick her up. But on the way to the Main Square I drive slow, relishing the last sights of District 1; at least for a few weeks.

"What did your car break down or something?" Lace complains, "I mean, really Topaz, can you drive any _slower_? It'll be _hours _before we get to the square.

I laugh, but only speed up a bit. When we get to the square and find a decent parking spot, we have our fingers pricked for blood which they wipe onto a card that has a citizen number on it. Lace and I push through the crowd earning many reproachful looks. We're just on time because when we finally get to the sixteen year old section our escort, Trixie Feather, is smiling at the crowd. Her bright yellow hair almost looks green under the sunlight. It contrasts horribly with the pink and red dress that wraps tightly around her chubby body. Her earrings are piled with the same jewels as the ones on her fake flower that is pinned to her clothes. Black stockings and pink heels help complete the look of a fat strawberry.

I fake a smile and keep it on stiffly while the mayor drones on about the Dark Ages and District 13 and "…so the Capital picks 24 kids each year to fight to the death in a big arena…" and so on and so forth. Finally Trixie is ready to pick out of the girl's reaping bowl.

"Our first contestant will be- oh this is so exciting!"

Her hand brushes aside a few strips of paper, digging deep into the sea of slips. "Erynn Crevis! Please come up to the stage as our new girl tribute." A broad shouldered girl with puffy, thick brown hair pushes herself roughly up to the stage.

"Any volunteers?" Her words are almost drowned out by a chorus of screaming girls. Of course they know they're not supposed to volunteer, but it is exciting to scream out the phrase. Unless you're the one who is actually going into the arena.

Lace nudges me and looks at me meaningfully. I take a deep breath and open my mouth.

"I volunteer as tribute to represent District 1 in the annual 43rd Hunger Games!"

The voice startles me when I realize it's not my own. No, this isn't supposed to happen. _I'm _supposed to be tribute. Not this mystery girl.

Trixie beams in my general direction. "Do we have a volunteer?"

I can already see the girl making her way up to the stage. No, no, no. I'm closer. I step forward.

"Yes, we do." I say loudly. Trixie's eyes scan me and then her smile widens.

"Come up here, dear. It looks like we have our District 1 girl tribute! What's your name?"

I smirk into the cameras, hoping I look confident. "Topaz Birdd," I hesitate, racking my brain for something else to say before Trixie heads over to the boy's bowl.

"Damask Flown." Unlike the girls the boys are silent. Everyone knows Damask was supposed to volunteer. It's a coincidence he was reaped.

He is huge, lumbering up the stage. Yet if you look closely he moves with a confident grace, rolling his shoulders every now and then. His hair is a light brown and sticks out messily. He doesn't smile. He doesn't frown either. Instead there is a permanent scowl on his face. No one will volunteer for him. If you do, you know you'll be dead before you even reach the arena.

"Our male tribute from District 1! No volunteers? Very well then. I present our representatives for District 1 in the 43rd Hunger Games!" She pauses to hold up our hands. "May the odds be ever in your favor."

A thunderous applause as Trixie holds our hands together. Damask grasp is firm and suffocating and it takes all I can muster to not flinch. Instead I look straight into his grey eyes with an unspoken challenge; I _will be the next shining jewel of the Hunger Games. _

It seems that as soon as I am placed onto a leather couch my parents rush into the room. Their faces are still long and slender and strict as ever but their eyes sparkle with a childish excitement. My father's usual hardened face is soft with admiration.

"We're so proud of you honey!" My mom speaks first. I brighten at her encouraging words.

"That shout was simply amazing. I know you'll make a good daughter." My smile widens. There's no harm done if he doesn't know that the voice wasn't me.

"Make us even prouder!" My mom ends. A Peacekeeper enters.

"There is another visitor waiting outside."

"Well, don't want to let Lace wait. Although…" She leans in. "When you come home, I don't think you should hang out with her anymore. I heard her family is actually on the verge of becoming _poor._" She bites her lip. "Anyway, Good luck!" They are both gone.

Lace rushes in and for the first time I notice her white dress and lace shawl. Why was I examining District 1 when I should have been talking to her? I stand up and hug her.

"Oh. My. Gosh. Congrats! That was, like, the most awesome reaping ever! You are so gonna win! Did you see Damask's face? It was like so funny." She makes an exaggerated expression of a scowl and we both howl with laughter.

"Shut up," I say. "I know you have a crush on him!"

"Do not!" But her face flushes a bright pink. "Anyway even if I did, I'm still totally rooting for you! Besides, I've had my eye on Velvet for a while now!" She gushes. Then a Peacekeeper marches into the room. "Visiting time is over." He says, then holds the door open for Lace.

"Good luck! I _know _you'll win!" I watch her retreating back. The door closes and I sit back onto the couch, waiting for someone to come retrieve me. And I smile. Because for the first time, I actually believe I have a chance at winning. My grin widens as I think this.

Let the games begin.

**So the next chapter will becoming out maybe next week, or sooner, and it will be awesome because TrackerJackson will have written it. SO review please! And if you haven't gone to check her out then let shame rain down upon you! Also review.**

**(Oh yeah, before you go, review!) *.***


	2. Chapter 2: Goodbye Ocean

**And here is the long awaited chapter two written by TRACKERJACKSON! Yay! Celebrate! :3 Sorry it took so long, hopefully I'll get the next chapters up soon.**

The soft and salty wood creaks beneath my feet as I breathe in the fresh ocean air. My family's boat, _Star_, shudders beneath my feet, and I adjust the mahogany wheel. Coral, the deckhand shouts up to me.

"Is everything all right up there, Finn?"

"I'm fine. I just passed to near a sandbar, and the bottom rudder caught. It's fixed now."

Coral walks up the stairs anyway, and adjusts the sails. We have the motor running, but the brisk wind fills the sails easily, causing us to bounce over the ocean even faster.

I reach under Coral's arms, tie the rope to the rail, and pull her into a hug. She turns and pulls me down for a slow kiss. Coral and I began dating a little more than two years ago, back when I was fourteen and she was fifteen.

She has been a deckhand on _Star _for over five years, since her parents both drowned while gathering clams. They were our neighbors, and, while we didn't have enough money to take in another child, we gave her a job.

One day, we were able to take the boat our without having to present a fishing license, which every fisherman in District Four receives for his or her seventeenth birthday. That night, we sat on the deck, ate smoked salmon, and watched the sun set. We have been inseparable ever since.

I was with her the day her first boyfriend broke up with her, I was there when she got her fishing license, and now I am here for her on Reaping Day. I can't do anything for her except hold her close, and ignore the invisible words: _You both are in the bowl._ As if we are thinking the same thing, she turns to me.

"You know what Zale would say right now."

Zale has been both of our close friends for a long time. I met Zale in kindergarten, when we had our first test on identifying fish. I was stuck on a particular problem, and he leaned over and whispered _Mahi-mahi_ into my ear. That night, he came over to our house for dinner, and Mother served Mahi-mahi. We took it as a sign and decided to be best friends, like little kids do.

Zale and I have only ever had one fight. When he first met Coral, we were both thirteen and Coral was fourteen. Zale had a huge crush on her, and I did as well. For a while we fought for her attention, and tried to sabotage each other's efforts.

Eventually we both realized how stupid we were being, and Zale admitted he hadn't liked her for a while, and just wanted to win the argument. After the fight, Zale stated saying a certain quote whenever Coral or I was worried.

I turn back to Coral and laugh.

"Don't worry about what tomorrow will bring. Today's trouble is enough." I point out into the distance. "Look. The sun is starting to rise. Do you want to fish today or just sit and talk?"

In answer, Coral stands up and pads across to the anchor, dangling over the edge of the boat. "Can you lower it, or should I?

Coral knows about how I feel about anchors. My family named the boat _Star_ after my older sister.

The day she got her license, three years ago, my parents let her go out alone with the boat. The typical length of a long, open water fishing trip is about a week. So, when she didn't come back for several days, no one was worried. After a week and a half, my parents rented one of the District's boats, and went out looking for her. They found her boat seven miles off shore, and her nowhere to be found.

However, when they pulled the anchor up to bring the boat back, they found her body caught in it. When she lowered the anchor, her wrist was wrapped around it, and she was dragged to the bottom of the ocean where she drowned.

Right after her funeral, Father took me out to the docks and took me on my first open water trip. The whole time we fished, we never once used the anchor.

A few days after I got back, I took a small square of wood from near the anchor. I branded it with a star, and hung it around my neck with a leather cord I found washed up on the beach. I haven't taken it off since, and I know, if I get reaped, it will be my token.

I let Coral lower the anchor, and I get a trident for her, a spear for me, and two nets. District Four kids are raised with these weapons. Most of the boys prefer tridents, but a spear has always felt more balanced in my hands.

We spend the rest of the morning catching fish, talking about small, almost forgettable moment of our childhood, and kissing. When it's time to go back, I tell her what's really on my mind.

"Coral, I don't know if I can handle it if you get picked. I already lost Star. I can't lose you too."

She looks at me with a sad smile. "I wish I could tell you it would all be okay, and that neither of us will be reaped, but I can't. I can tell you this: If we get reaped, there is _normally_ a volunteer willing to take your place."

I know that's true, and I wish it calmed me down at all. I just give her a peck on the cheek. "Thanks Cor. I hate to say it, but I think we need to head back. I promised Sandy I'd hang out with her on the beach before the reaping."

Sandy is my younger sister. She is only eight, but she already shares many of my looks: sea green eyes, tan body from living on the ocean, and golden hair. We come from a fairly attractive family, but we are nowhere near the most attractive in the District.

Coral slowly turns the boat back to District Four, and we complete the rest of the trip in a relaxing silence.

When we get back to shore I kiss Coral goodbye and walk along the beach to my house. My family is not poor, but we aren't very rich either. We can afford a small, one-story house by the gutting area. Both my parents are fisherman, so when they bring their haul in after the day, they can chart their catches, and drop them off on the way home.

We also have enough to eat, but we can't afford the fancier food items such as roe and sushi. We almost never go to bed hungry, but we never turn down seconds.

I open the wooden door and make my way to the bedroom Sandy and I share. She is already sitting in her swimsuit on her bed, her feet not quite touching the floor. When she hears the door open she sits up and smiles. "Finn! You remembered!"

I walk over, pick her up, and twirl her around in the air. "Of course I remembered Dee! You know I've been looking forward to this trip for weeks!"

I grab her hand and we walk down to the boardwalk. As we are crossing the sand, she turns to me and asks in her little girl voice, "Are you scared?"

I don't quite know how to answer that. Of course I'm scared. I could die in two weeks! I can't Sandy worry about that now. She's only eight, and doesn't quite understand the way Panem works.

"Course not. How could I be scared with you holding my hand?"

She laughs, the sun glinting off each individual strand of her hair. I pick her up, and throw her in the water.

"Finn! It's cold!"

I laugh, and jump in next to her. "I'm going to teach you how to hold your breath. Now, when I go underwater, I want you to as well. Count to ten in your head, and then come back up! Ready? One, Two Three!"

We both go underwater but I come back up right away to keep an eye on Sandy. Her finger taps her leg ten times, and then she comes back to the top of the water, already out of breath. She looks at me with her bright eyes. "How'd I do?"

I smile warmly. "You did great! We will do this every day, and we will stay underwater five more seconds every week. Soon you will be better than me!"

Sandy smiles, but then looks at the sun and frowns. "Don't we have to get back soon?"

I look at the sun and realize how late it is. "You're right. Take your time getting out and drying off, but I got to go get ready."

I run back to the house, and into the bathroom. I pull off my salty, wet clothes and step into the shower. On Reaping Day, the Capital provides us with as much hot water as we want. It feels great against my body, and I allow myself a full ten minutes for the shower.

After I get out, I run to my room and pull on my reaping clothes: Black pants that show off my muscular legs, a blue green shirt that shows off my eyes, and my nicest pair of brown sandals. When I'm back in the bathroom, I brush my bronze hair and look out the window to make sure Sandy is back from the beach.

I see her walking up towards the house so I lay out her reaping outfit: A sky blue dress that has a bow that cinches around the waist, and some white sandals.

As soon as she's ready to go, we walk to Zale's house. His older brother, Kai, answers the door. Kai used to take Zale, Coral, and I out on the boat back before either of us had the license. He's like an older brother to me ever since I've known Zale.

"Hey Finn. You here for Zale?"

I nod. "Yeah, is he here?"

Kai calls his name, and Zale walks up to us, already in his reaping clothes.

"Hey. Are you ready to go?"

I respond, "Yeah. Are you?"

Zale nods and we start to walk towards the Square. Kai can be a little late, because he is nineteen, and doesn't have to worry about being reaped anymore.

Zale and I meet up with Coral about halfway to the Square. None of us say anything; we are too nervous to speak. When we reach the Square, each of us check in, exchange terse nods, and go into our separate pens.

From where I am in the sixteen year-old male section I can almost see Coral, her long blond hair tied up in an elaborate bun for the reaping. I turn to Zale, and we exchange the unspoken words: _Don't worry about what tomorrow will bring. Today's trouble is enough._

It takes a few minutes for everyone to show up, but the Square is eventually full. All of the past victors are sitting at their place of honor on the stage, and the mayor is sitting beside them.

The District escort, Auriel, walks onto the stage. As escorts go, she is fairly normal. She had golden hair, and she has dyed one streak a light blue. She is wearing eye shadow of the same color, and it accents her ice blue eyes.

Her outfit probably costs more than a week of food for my family. She is wearing a tight blue dress that reflects the light, giving the impression of the sun shining off the waves. However, when she opens her mouth, it is clear it has been altered.

"Good _morning_ District Four!" She sounds like a dolphin. I kid you not. Her high pitched, squeaky voice makes a few people in the crowd cover their ears in pain. "I hope you are _all_ ready for the _wonderful_ day ahead of us. Two _lucky_ tributes will be chosen to participate in the _brilliant _Hunger Games!"

Half of the District cheers, while the other half politely claps. Yes, we are a Career District, but not all of us are as excited about the Games as District One and Two are. We have half as may victors as them, half as many volunteers, and half as many kills. Some years, we don't have volunteers at all, but normally there is at least one.

Auriel gives a grand welcome to the "_wonderful_ mayor, Mr. Marcean!" He walks to the front of the stage, and gives the history of the Games. I've heard this sixteen times, so I can basically mouth the words along with him.

He talks about the rebellion, and how District Four sided with the all-powerful Capital. The _merciful_ Capital did not punish us as much as the other Districts because of our alliance. In order to keep the other Districts in check, they created the Hunger Games, a game where twenty-four tributes are sent in, and only one comes out.

Mr. Marcean finishes his speech, and welcomes Auriel back to the stage. She prances across the whitewashed, wooden stage to the first glass bowl. "Ladies First!" She fishes around inside the bowl until she finds the slip she is looking for. She pulls it out, and the District stands still.

"Dory Kay!"

There is a small disturbance in the twelve year old section, and the tiny girl steps forward. She doesn't look the least bit scared, and, sure enough, someone volunteers when she reaches the stage.

The volunteer's name is Nyasa Sal, and she is a strong and quick seventeen years old. I vaguely recognize her from the District's community home.

I think her mom died in a boat collision, and her Dad committed suicide. She and Coral used to be distant friends, but after the accident Nyasa became closed off and deadly. She has dedicated her whole life to training for these games, and she certainly looks ready.

Auriel looks thrilled; she loves it when people volunteer. "Well look at how _brave_ you are! District Four; here is your female tribute! Now to pick the males!" She digs around inside the glass bowl, where my name is written on six slips: one for every year older I am than twelve.

I'm lucky: I've never had to take tereasse. The odds are in my favor. But that doesn't stop Auriel from reading the name on the slip of paper: "Finn Crest!"

My heart stops. I feel like I'm drowning in the salty air, and I can't swim to the surface. I look around for help, but no one is looking at me. People have backed up forming a ring around me. Only Zale looks me, mouthing words I can barely work out: _Someone will volunteer._

A few years ago, Zale and I made the promise that if one of us is picked, we would not volunteer. Neither of us wanted to have the death of a friend on our conscience. But he is right: someone will probably volunteer. This thought gives me enough courage to clear my face of all emotion and walk to the stage.

Auriel greets me and presents me to the District. I wait for volunteers. No one moves. I catch Coral's eyes in the crowd. They are filled with panic and tears, and they beg for someone, anyone, to volunteer.

A few more seconds pass, but they feel like hours. Auriel looks disappointed; no one volunteered. In a haze, I shake Nyasa's hand and look back at my district. In the distance, I can see the mast of the _Star_, and the creaking as the waves move it around. I am like her. Moved by the ocean, with no say in where I go.

Auriel takes my hand and Nyasa's in hers, and holds them up for the district. "District Four, I present you your tributes!" They cheer, unaware of the rising panic in my stomach. I can't show any emotion. The Games have already begun, and I can't show weakness.

Peacekeeps lead us to separate rooms, and close the door. I will have one hour. One hour to say goodbye to everything before I'm thrown into a game of life and death. My family comes first. Sandy bursts into the room, sobbing, followed by Mother and Father. Sandy hugs me and cries, "You can't leave Finny! You promised you'd help me hold my breath!"

I almost start crying myself, but I have to stay strong. "I know Dee, and I'm sorry. I'll be back before you know it, and then I'll spend the whole week at the beach with you." I pat her on the head, and keep hugging her while Mother talks to me.

"You realize you will have to join the Careers. You're strong enough, and you've trained hard enough. You have a very good chance."

She's right. While I've never directly trained for the Games, I've spent my whole life with nets, spears, and tridents. I know how to catch fish, and I'm strong. "I will come home. I promise."

Father looks me in the eye. "We know. We will be waiting. I love you Finn."

"I love you too Father. I love you Mother." I reach down and look Sandy in the eye. "I love you to Dee. I will come back before you realize I'm gone. I promise."

She looks at me, and slowly stops crying. "You can do it. I'll hold my breath until you do."

To prove her point, she takes a big gulp of air, and doesn't let it out. I pull her back into a hug, and feel her breathing quietly, trying not to let me notice it. I pretend I can't. "I bet you can Dee."

After one more round of hugs, my family leaves, and is replaced by Coral, Zale, and Kai. Coral is crying too hard to talk, and I just pull her into a hug. I kiss her on the mouth and whisper into her hair. "I will come back for you. And when I do, I'll give you this."

I pull out a pearl ring. I was planning on waiting until we were both safe from the reaping, but I might die in the next two weeks, and I want her to know how much I love her. I get on one knee, and hold out the ring.

"Coral, I love you. The day we first met, we were diving for oysters, and you started crying thinking about your parents. You went back up to the boat, and we talked for hours. That was the day I realized I was in love with you. When we got home, I found a pearl in one of the oysters. I kept it for all these years, and I had it made into a ring a few weeks ago. I want to spend the rest of my life with you. I love you so much Coral."

By now Coral is flat out sobbing. "I love you too Finn. Of course I'll marry you."

She throws her arms around me. Zale looks at me from over her shoulder. "I'm sorry I didn't volunteer. I didn't know you were thinking about proposing."

"We made a deal when we were little, Zale. I wasn't expecting you to volunteer, so you did nothing wrong. If you died after volunteering for me, I would never forgive myself. You did the right thing."

I pull away from Coral and hug Zale. "You know guys, this isn't goodbye. I _will_ make it back."

Kai had remained relatively quiet in the corner, but now he steps forward. "We know you will. You have to. I don't know what I would do without you. You've been like a little brother to me. I remember the first time you came to my house looking for Zale. You were the smallest little shrimpling I've ever seen. But now, you're strong enough to party with the Careers."

He claps me on the back. I look around at my friends for possibly the last time. "I love you guys." By now, I'm seriously about to cry.

The Peacekeeper sticks his head in. "It's time to go."

I kiss Coral, and then hug Zale and Kai. "I'll see you guys soon. I promise." They walk out, and I'm left in a quiet room all alone. Screw it. I cry.

**Woahhhhh! Awesomeness overload! Her stories are super interesting so go check them out! I'm serious.**


	3. Chapter 3: Heading to the Hanging Tree

**The third chapter, written by Tracker Jackson, once again! You'll love it! And why don't you review?**

The dull hum of cartons moving down the conveyor belt almost lulls me to sleep, and I have to keep repeating my instructions: left, center, right, and repeat. I pack apples according to their type. Every tenth crate, I slip and apple into my dress without anyone noticing. My family is too poor to go without this extra food.

We survive on the meager wages brought in by my mom, who is a gardener, and my dad, who is a harvester. I am a packer, and it is easier for me to steal food. The Peacekeepers search all of the harvesters when their shift is over, and anyone caught stealing will be whipped twenty times.

I remember the day Rye caught me stealing apples. Rye is my packing partner. We were paired together when we both first started the job when we were twelve. After a year, we became close friends, and I have had a crush on him ever since. He doesn't know this yet, but I plan on asking him out after the reaping today. I return to packing apples.

Packing is the easiest of all of District Eleven's jobs. There has only been one accident on the job: A fifteen year old girl's hair got caught in the belt, and she was dragged into the machine that squishes the crate together. I was only nine when it happened, and wasn't working in the factory, but I remember the gruesome body as it was carried past the school.

It was the day I was partnered with Mazie for the school's infamous seed identification test. We were working off in the corner, stuck on identifying a pesky guava seed, when the body was dragged past. It's not uncommon for people to die of unnatural causes, because the Peacekeepers are so strict. However, Job accidents were rare.

Mazie and I were the only ones to see the body. We never talked about it, but I remember her nauseous face, and shaking hands. If this hadn't happened, I'm not sure we would have become such close friends.

You know what they say about traumatizing moments bonding people? I think that's what happened to us. The next day, without either of us really talking about it, I went over to her house for dinner. We quickly became the best of friends.

She even knows about my crush on Rye. They aren't great friends, because he quit school when he started packing, but she knows him enough to know he is nice.

The shift bell rings, and I return to the present. I pluck one more apple from the shelf, and hide it in my skirt. I need to get home quickly, because the reaping is in a few hours. Rye washes his hands and joins me as I'm walking out of the door.

"Are you ready for the pre-reapings?"

The pre-reapings, as far as I know, exist only in District Eleven. We are the biggest district, bigger even than the Capitol. In order for everyone to fit in the Main Square, the mayor holds a pre-reaping. He picks five thousand names at random from a list of the children aged twelve to eighteen, and he prints off their names. These are the names that go into the reaping ball.

I am fourteen, and take tereasse for me, my mom, and my dad, so my name is on the population list twelve times. I am expecting to make it to the final reapings, but it is highly unlikely I will actually be chosen for the Games.

"Ready as I'll ever be. Are you?"

While Rye is also fourteen, he has three sister and his parents. Because none of them are of reaping age, he has to take tereasse out on all of them. His name is on the population list twenty one times. While the odds are still in his favor, he has a larger chance of being reaped. Still, he appears almost calm.

"Nothing I can do to stop it now. The most I can do is hope."

We walk the rest of the way back to my house in silence, neither one of us wanting to talk about the terrifying five hours ahead of us. We reach my house first.

"I hope I don't see you tonight."

He cracks a small smile at my almost-joke. "Same with me."

I walk into the small house I share with my mom and dad, and walk into the bathroom. Knowing I will be in the final reaping, I wore my reaping clothes to work today. I admire the stitching on the ebony sleeves, and the fabric on the light green skirt.

It goes well with my brownish reddish hair, and my tan skin. I apply some water to my cheekbones to make them shine and some tinted soap to my eyelids to accentuate my brown eyes. I pull my hair back into its signature low ponytail, and tie it with a bit of rope.

My parents won't get home until right before the final reapings, so I pass the time by cutting and eating one of the five apples I was able to steal.

Right at three o'clock, there is a heavy knock at the door. I take a deep breath to steal myself, and answer it. A Peacekeeper stands at the other side.

"Are you Willow Fields, age fourteen?"

I know where this it headed. "Yes, I am."

"You have been selected to participate in the final reapings. Please be in the Main Square in an hour, or you will be whipped. Good day."

The Peacekeeper leaves, and I run over to Maize's house, only a street away. She flings open the door with a huge grin.

"I wasn't picked! Were you?"

My frown is enough.

"Oh." Her smile fades as she realizes that I have a chance of being thrown into the Games. "I guess you have to go get ready. The children not in the reaping aren't allowed in the Square, but I'll watch everything on the television. You _will_ be okay."  
We hug, and I run to Rye's house. I can tell when he opens the door that he is in the final reaping as well. I just look at him. "You too?"

He shrugs like _what can you do?_

I notice he is already dressed as well—he was expecting this as much as I was. He offers me his arm with a dramatic flourish. "Shall we?"

I giggle, take his arm, and we begin the walk to the Square.

I pass the orange grove that stands behind my house, and I breathe in the sweet smell. When I get old enough, all I want to do is be a harvester. I taught myself how to climb trees when I was five, and have been getting steadily better as I grew up. Standing at the top of a tree fells like I am standing at the top of the world: untouchable.

I don't feel untouchable right now. When Rye and I get to the square, he squeezes my hand, and walks into the fourteen year old males section. I walk to the fourteen year old girl section, and pray that neither of us will be picked.

Once everyone is where they need to be, the mayor walks out onto the stage. He talks of Panem before the rebellion: the shining Capital, the wonderful thirteen districts, and the generosity the Capital showed them. Then, he talks about the rebellion. The greedy districts rising up against the generous Capital, and the war that followed. In retaliation, the Capital blew up District Thirteen, and created the Hunger Games. Twenty four went in, only one emerged alive.

Districts One, Two, and Four have it lucky—they are the Capital's lapdogs, and the Capital looks the other way when they train for the Games. If anyone in District Eleven tried to train, we would be immediately whipped and fined ten dollars, a whole week of food. This could be the difference between life and death for most families, including mine.

If I was to be reaped, I would be one of the first to die. Having a diet of only apples has caused me to stop growing when I was twelve. I weigh only eighty three pounds, even with my five foot four inches frame, and I can only lift the weight of an apple crate.

I do have a few skills. From the continuous cutting of fruits, I can handle a knife fairly well, I can fun fast, I can climb trees, and I can go a long time without food. However, this is nothing against the Career's years of sword handling and accuracy practice. The answer is simple: I _cannot_ get reaped.

The mayor finishes his speech, and turns the microphone over to our escort, Hestia. It has to be one of her last years escorting. Even though she has had many years of surgery to try and hide it, she still is clearly pushing eighty.

Her hair has been dyed a raven black, and her skin a pale white. A tattoo of a bird is planted on her cheek, below her left eye. She has slathered so much makeup over her face, it is impossible to tell whether her features are real or drawn on.

Her eyes are coal black, and she has framed them with black eye shadow and heaps of mascara. The result makes her eyes look sunken into her face. She has also smeared black lipstick over her lips, and used a pen to create a fake beauty mark on her chin.

She thinks that she is the height of fashion. My district thinks that she looks like a freak. She daintily walks over to the huge glass bowl and plucks a single name from the top.

Suddenly, I'm terrified, and I need someone there to help me. I frantically look for Rye in the male section, but I can't find him. I shove several people out of the way in front of me, and finally meet his eyes just as Hestia reads the slip.

Her voice resonates through the Square. She reads the only name in the world that could fill me up with such terror and resignation as I feel now. My panic is reflected in Rye's eyes.

"Willow Fields! Willow please come up to the stage to claim your spot as the District Eleven female tribute!"

I don't know what to do. On one hand, I have to go up to the stage. Everyone in this District knows me as the girl who lives by the orange orchard. I can't escape from this. On the other hand, I can't go up there. That stage is my death sentence.

No one ever volunteers here in District Eleven. Better than only District Twelve, we have no chance of winning the games. In fact, we have only two victors: Two women by the names of Autumn and Sage. They won back to back games, and no one has won since.

It's over for me. I am dead. I can't fight it. I take one small step, and then another, until I find myself at the stage. No turning back now. I'm in this Game for good.

Hestia shakes my hand. "I see you are excited!"

What is she talking about? Being reaped is the worst possible thing that could happen to me. This is the moment that game me bad dreams as a child, was the taboo topic as I grew, and broke apart families every year.

Then, I look at myself on the screen. I was so shocked I wasn't thinking about my face, so it automatically morphed into my most common expression: A smile. I decide that this isn't a bad thing, and I need to look ready for these Games. I look Hestia in the eye.

"I've never been more excited about anything in my life!" _The life that is about to be cut short._ Hestia looks happy to not have to deal with a crying child.

"Well good for you! Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you: Your female tribute!"

I notice how she didn't even ask for volunteers.

She walks over to the boy's ball, and selects a name from the bottom. I don't care what she says. Nothing can ever make this any worse. And then I am proven wrong.

"District Eleven, your male tribute is… Rye Sharp!"

The name resonates through my head, and removes any possible thought of bravery or skill. I snap.

"Rye! RYE!" I see him slowly walking up to the stage. "Rye! No!" I run to him, pushing aside the Peacekeepers trying to keep me on the stage. Rye opens his arms, and I fly into them, trying to find the familiar comfort.

The Peacekeepers come, and force both of us back onto the stage. This is it—I'm fighting to the death with the one boy I actually like. I've given up hope now. All I can do now is savor the final moments with Rye, and make sure he makes it as long as he can.

I may be a dead person walking, but Rye sure as hell won't die in these Games. Hestia holds up our hands together, and turns us so we are facing the District. I the distance, I can see my orange trees and the roof of my house. Now I'll never become a harvester.

"I present the tributes of District Eleven!"

The crowd claps politely, but is clearly unhappy about Rye and I being killed together. Everyone knows how close we are.

The Peacekeepers lead us to the City Hall, and to our separate rooms. I don't want to leave Rye, but they force us into different rooms anyway.

My parents come in first. I assume that Maize is using this time to say goodbye to Rye. While I feel plenty bad for myself, I almost feel worse for Maize. She has lost two friends today, and the last memory she will have of us is us killing other children.

My dad hugs me tearfully. I've never seen my dad cry, and it makes me even more scared than I am now.

"Dad, please don't cry! I love you."

I don't even bother reassuring them I will come back. We all know this is goodbye. I'm not coming back. Mom, as if she is thinking the same thing, starts crying even harder.

"Sweetie, I don't want you to leave. But when you're there, remember: You are fairly good with a knife, and you can climb trees better than anyone in the District. Find an alliance with people you can trust, stick with Rye, and remember that we love you very much."

As much as I try to fight it, tears start to drip down my cheeks. "I love you both so much. I don't want your last memory of me to be me killing children."

My dad takes my face in his hands. "It won't be. We will remember your kids, and your husband, because you _will _make it back. You have to promise! You are our little girl, and we can't deal with your loss. Promise!"

"I promise, Dad."'

They leave after a couple of tearful hugs and kisses, and then are replaced with a sobbing Maize. She runs to me, and we hug each other tightly.

"You can't _both_ go! It's so unfair!"

"I know, Maize. I know. I'm so sorry. One of us, and probably neither of us, is coming back."

She twists out of my grip, and glares at me. "Don't say that. One of you is going to come back. You are my only close friend. I _need_ you here."

I decide to humor her. I don't need our last moments together spoiled by pleading. "I will try as hard as I possibly can."

Maize, nods, satisfied with my answer. She presses a necklace into my hand, and I look down to see a guava seed hanging from the chain. The tears start sliding down my face as I look at her.

"Is this…?"

She finishes my thought. "It's the guava seed we had to identify a few years ago. Can you promise it will be your token?"

This is the best gift I could have been given. "Of course I will, Maize. I had no clue you kept this after all these years. Thank you. I'll see you in a few weeks."

She offers me a watery smile, and the Peacekeepers make her leave. I call out to her retreating back, "I love you Maize! I'll see you soon!"

The Peacekeepers shut the door before she can respond. I sit in silence until they come and collect me.

As I walk to the train station, I meet up with Rye. He looks like he hadn't cried, but I'm sure I look like a mess. We fall into our usual stride next to each other, neither one of us wanting to break the silence. Finally, as we are nearing the platform, he turns to me.

"Well, I don't think this could have turned out any worse."

"What were the odds?"

He turns to me and looks me in the eye. "I don't think I even need to ask this, but I assume we will be an alliance?"

I smile sadly at him. "Of course." I work up the courage to tell him that I like him. _Rye I've liked you for two years now._ Say it out loud you idiot! "Rye, listen. I have to tell you something."

At that moment, we reach the platform, and the cameras start snapping in our faces. I can't tell him now; I want this to be a private moment. I'll wait for later, but I know I can't wait for much longer. I don't have that much time left.

I accept the fact that I'll be in these Games for the rest of my life. All I want is Rye to make it out alive.

I turn, and enter the train, with my head held high. Let it begin.

**Yaaay! Wonderful right? Of course it is! :P P.S. Review and maybe the odds will be in your favor! :3**


	4. Chapter 4: Old Mcdonald HAD a farm

**Okay, so sorry for the long wait, but finals are here and I was too busy procrastinating-um *cough* ****_studying._****So, yeah, hopefully things will pick up after finals. Sorry for the kind of crappy chapter, I finished it up in a hurry. To make it up, I'll post 2 chapters this week! :D One today, one tomorrow! Hope you enjoy at least a little bit! .** **As always check out TrackerJackson and revieeew!**

The faded, red barn door gives a long creak when I open it. It had been oiled last week and yet it still produces its wooden sigh. We can't afford to oil it again and, really, what is the point? I imagine the old rundown building as an elderly person, aching to the bone.

I push the heavy door all the way open till the dim morning light streams through, creating a pathway that cuts through the darkness. I can only dream about painting this scene. How the strokes of the brush would flow together, coloring the canvas with smooth and defined lines. In fact I long to run back to the house and grab my utensils so I can freeze time and capture this magnificent scene on paper. Only then would anyone else be able to see the beautiful way that the light hits the ground, the magic of it all. Only then would they be able to appreciate it. But I have no time for such trivial things as art. There is no use in wasting valuable paper. Or at least that's what they say. Still the urge to retrieve my sketchbook and paints tugs at me, and I'm about to turn towards the house when a young boy darts out of the barn.

He's thin, thinner than me, dusty brown hair, pale grey eyes. Bits of hay stick out of his tangled hair which tells me he's been sleeping in our barn. How he got into the locked building, I don't know. He's on the ground now, having tumbled into me. I look at his feeble figure. I've never seen this kid around. He looks about twelve, maybe eleven.

"Sleeping in the barn?" I ask giving my head a short jerk towards the building. My voice comes out strong and firm with a little bit of southern tang in it, just the way I like. The boy nods and I notice he's cradling something in his arms.

"How'd ya get in?" The boy trembles but doesn't answer. I frown at him until I realize I might be laying on the intimidation to much. I calm my voice and try to get rid of my natural accent before speaking again. "How did you get into the barn?"

"Hole, in the back." My first thought is to react in surprise at his hoarse but educated voice. Then the realization of what his words mean hit me. Great. The wood probably rotted through. I sigh before my eye catches on his armful of white things concealed with hay.

"What ya got there?" I say nodding towards the bundle. He immediately hugs the hay tighter which results in a cracking sound. And I know what he's hiding.

"Drop it." I command. He obeys reluctantly settling the package down in the grass to reveal about a dozen white oval shaped eggs, one slightly cracked but still salvageable. I pick up the cracked one rolling it over in my hand.

Spitting angrily into the grass I say, "You stealing our eggs? Cause you sure don't look like a farmer. Look at this. Completely ruined!" I toss it carelessly into his awaiting hands. He has surprisingly quick reflexes.

Scooping up two of the good eggs I look closely at the rest on the ground. I could take these from him and leave him with only the cracked one. I could, but that doesn't seem right. Instead I pretend to be seething with anger.

"Only two good eggs! Rest of 'em are worthless. Take them and run along. And don't even think about going near the well. I'm leaving it open this afternoon." This basically translates to "_Take the eggs and run. I'll unlock the well at noon so you better get a drink of water while you still can." _But I don't want to say that outright. I don't want him to think that he can use me for resources.

Still, the message must get across to him because is face slightly lightens up and he nods, gathers up the eggs and runs. He's pretty fast.

When I walk into the barn the first thing I notice is that all the animals are fed. I laugh because the boy must've been an animal lover and he actually stayed long enough to take care of them while he could've, _should've, _been escaping.

Since my morning job is done I jog back to the house. By this time the sun is pretty high up in the sky, pounding down on my shoulders. As soon as I walk in the triplets are on me.

"Jonas, why didn't you wake me up? You _promised _that I could help feed the animals."

"Jonas, I want to go to the farm with you. Mommy won't let me though! It's not _fair_."

"I'm going to scream really, really loud if you don't take me with you."

"Oh thank the lord, Jonas! Please help me control these kids!"

All four voices piped up at once, Jenna's, Jacob's, Jack's, and my overwhelmed mother's. I laugh and signal for the voices to quiet down.

"Look guys, maybe some other time, okay? Todays the reaping, but I promise _tomorrow _I'll take you, and yes Jenna you'll be able to help feed the animals."

A few reluctant grumblings before they take off for another one of their pretend adventures where they fight against the Capital and rebel. They know they shouldn't play those kinds of things so they've made up code words; instead of Capital citizens they have "pigs" a very fitting word. Still even with their special way of communicating, it's pretty obvious who they're talking about.

My mother sighs and picks up her breakfast, a single piece of toast with a light coating of butter. Delicious. Our family is allowed this luxury because of our status as a farmer and a breeder. I mean, I guess I shouldn't say "allowed" since we steal a lot, but not from neighbors. Mostly from the breeding station where my mother has a job.

"Thank you Jonas. They've been whining the minute they got out of bed." My mother's accent is smooth and delicate, just like her. From her light brown hair to her dainty little feet, it's obvious that she's a frail being. Not all that strong either and she doesn't have an accent either like me and Pa.

"Your father's expecting you, you know. He's down at the field. Better grab your breakfast and get going." She nibbles on the bread and laughs nervously. "Won't be seeing you until after the reaping, will I? I suppose you'll be fine…" She continues to mutter worriedly to herself.

"Mom, I'll be alright. I am every year, aint I?" She nods, distracted by her own thoughts until I swoop down, giver a hug, and grab my toast. I'm out the door before she can react.

I'm only midway to our farm and I'm covered in gallons of sweat. It drips down my neck and into my eyes causing me to blink rapidly and then shove thoughts of water out of my eyes. The sweltering heat has melted the butter on my bread so that it has soaked through and onto my hands. But I refuse to eat it. I have someone very important to give it to, which is why I have to make a small detour.

I turn onto a thinner dirt path, concealed by a tall grass that rises up over my head. After a minute or so of walking I come to a clearing that contains what looks like a huge bush. But if you dig through the leaves it reveals a wooden compartment which is where my friend lives.

I found this place when I was around ten years old. I was storming off because I was mad that once again the triplets got all the attention that I had never received. I had decided to get horribly lost so no one would be able to find me. Then they would regret that they had never noticed, me and I would come home safe and sound and we would all be happy. I didn't really intend to get myself lost but I ended up doing exactly that in the plains. At nightfall I found this bush and decided to climb into it for warmth. I ended up crawling inside a wooden room and falling asleep. When I woke up there was my friend, a scrawny golden retriever, slobbering on the dirt floor and licking my face.

In the day light I was able to find my way to the dirt path and from there I found my home. Running away did have the effect I wanted, but in a bad way because for a few years no one would take their eyes off me. I wasn't allowed to keep the dog either and I was supposed to abandon him but instead I led him back to the "Hollow" and feed him secretly every morning when I pass by.

When I reach the Hollow I squeeze through the hole that's almost too small for my seventeen year old body now. A few of the sharper leaves scratch my skin but they only leave white marks that fade to thin red marks. As always Boy is sitting in the center of the Hollow wagging his tail. He bounds towards me when his nose detects the butter. I toss him the piece of bread and he devours it quickly. Whining for more he trots over and sits tilting his head as if asking me, "Where's the rest?" Running my hand on his coat I think about how cool it would be to capture this image. A boy and his dog, that'd be the perfect simple name. Once again the longing for a paintbrush hits me, but this time I wave it away and stand up with creaking legs. I pat Boy's head once again before turning back to the dusty dirt path.

When I reach the field I am greeted by Furn Daire, father of one of my few friends, Gazette. She's nice and all and we're just friends, not that I'm exactly attractive, but her father is the total opposite, an old grouch. He doesn't particularly like me since our farm land is much bigger than his. Ever since his wife died and the triplets are born he's acted like this towards our family. When Gazette's mother passed away Furn's farmland was cut down since the Capital figured he'd be overcome with grief and, in the future, wouldn't produce as much food as a family with two men and two boys. So my family was given the land that was taken away from him. Of course there's also the expectation that Jacob and Jack will become farmers while Jenna will stay home or work with my mother. Pretty sexist but that's how it is.

Furn is glaring at me through the wrinkly flaps he calls eyelids. Actually I'm not sure if that's his permanent look or if it really is a glare but his beady eyes follow me wherever I step. He doesn't know I hang with Gazette and I'd like to keep it that way since there's a rumor that in his possession is one of the few shotguns in the district. Besides Peacekeepers.

When looking at Gazette's father closely though, you feel pity for him. He's the only male in the family and so Gazette has to work in the fields sometimes. It's pretty hard to tell if he's strong or weak because most in District 11 are thin but have a firm demeanor. Like me. But this man's shoulders are frail and thin, his baggy skin almost translucent. The way he leans against the fence that divides farm land suggests that he is tired and too old to be working. But he can't be a day over my father's age. Still, he manages an impressive stare as he spits out the grass he had been chewing.

"Crops 're dying." He puts another piece of the thick grass into his mouth and licks his lips slowly, all the while looking at me. I try to not tear my gaze away. "Strange thing is," he continues, "Everything seems all right in your field."

"I don't know what to tell you. Take it up with my father, or don't. It's not my problem if you can't manage your own tiny field." His eyes narrow in anger. I know I've hit a nerve.

"Your right. Your field is huge. That just means there's more to lose." I've got to admit, he handles it pretty well.

"Yeah?" I say, "Well, I got a big family to feed." I turn around and stalk off into the field to find my father.

Truth is that old man actually kind of scares me. I keep up the whole tough image but I'm like a sheep in wolfs clothing. Imagine if I had to go into the Games, I'd be gone in an instant. Sure, I'm strong, but I'm not all that smart. I don't have the wits to stay in the match. Round one and I am out.

When I reach my father he is inspecting some plants on the side nearest to Furn's field.

"Furn has some complaints, but, to tell you the truth I don't see anything wrong with our crops. He's probably just delusional. I'd say he should stay inside, but there's no one else to take care of his field." My father shakes his head sadly. I can't help but notice the hoarse, dry sound of his voice, as if he is becoming dehydrated.

"Let's just get to work."

The next few hours pass by with me and my father working at opposite ends of the field. I try to concentrate on harvesting the delicate medicinal plants that we have to handpick before going through the rest of the crops with the machine that the Capital supplies. But my mind keeps drawing back to the reaping. Soon I know it's almost time. But before I go… Maybe I can snag on of the healing leaves? I have a headache that is throbbing and I know I'll be getting a sunburn so just maybe… I glance around making sure my father isn't rustling around anywhere nearby. Then I shoot my hand out, snap off a leaf, and stuff it into my mouth. The cool calming sensation on my tongue almost instantly kills off most of my headache. I can't say much for the patch of burnt skin, but I would have to survive.

I relish the mint flavors on my tongue and am about to spit the remains of the balled up leaf onto the ground to conceal with dirt when a voice startles me.

"I'm pretty sure that's prohibited."

I whirl around in shock to confront the newcomer. It's my friend Zack. He's pretty well off, his parents can afford to send him to school. They don't need any extra help. I used to be able to go to school, which is where I met him. But I only stayed in school until I was able to work in the fields. He didn't need to drop out. We manage to hang out some afternoons and although our meetings are scarce, we are extremely close. He's literally my only friend, not counting Gazette.

I laugh uncertainly and spit the leaf onto the ground, not sure if he's being serious or not. Zack is a kind of strange kid. Not in a bad way but he's different. I've always thought he should be in District 3. He's not fit for labor of muscles, but instead for brainwork. But he's the opposite of me. He looks like a strong type of person, attractive with his wavy blonde hair and tan complexion.

"Oh, it's only you."

"Only me? I could turn you in you know." Then he adds "Kidding." With a roll of the eyes at my worried expression.

"It's time." He continues seriously. I don't have to inquire to know that means the reaping. We leave the fields and start down the path. We don't bother to tell my father, he already knows, since it's a yearly tradition. When we start to see houses and barns again we separate, promising to meet up again here. I jog until I get to my house. The silence is eerie in the house, the emptiness uncomfortable. My mom takes the kids to the breeding station and I always hate this time of year, coming into the house, feeling like I'm separated from my family. I rush through washing my body and scrubbing myself.

My mother has laid out some nice clothes for me, stiff ironed jeans, a plain white t-shirt, a jacket. I slide them on, wriggling a little as I try to break the itchy fabric in. I look pretty good, even though I don't have any dress shoes.

When I reach the meeting spot I find both Gazette and Zack waiting for me. Gazette smiles at me.

"You look nice."

"Thanks."

Zack leans in, "You look _real _nice, if you know what I mean."

"Shut up," I say but I can't help smirking a little. Zack has this idea that Gazette likes me. A stupid joke that can sometimes get annoying, but occasionally it's funny.

I survey their outfits. Gazette is in a drab grey dress with puffy sleeves. The only color on the dress is a silk light blue ribbon sewn onto the hem of the skirt. Her blonde hair sticks fiery hair sticks out against the dress but I don't say anything. Who knows what's in fashion these days? I can't say she looks bad but it wouldn't be my first choice of color. The again my artist type critic might not be the best.

Zack is wearing a tan stiff jacket with matching pants. His shoes are polished and shined. His hair is gelled. Yet he still manages to look casual and laid back.

"You both look interesting," I say.

Gazette wrinkles her nose and puts on a high accent that makes it sound like she's asking a question at every sentence, "Lack of vocabulary much? Is that all you can say about my exquisite outfit that I've _obviously _spent decade choosing?" She twirls to punctuate her point and falls to the ground. Laughig she stands and gets up.

"I know it's not much," she says in her normal voice, "But it's the only dress I have. We had to sell all the others." She shrugs as if it was no big deal. A short silence follows. After Gazette's mother died she had to sell the only remainder of the woman for money to survive. It is a memory that Gazette hates to recall.

Zack picks up the accent, trying to lighten the mood, "I'm sure we'll be the best dressed there. Look at those jeans, Jonas! So fashionable! Especially with that rip on the cuff! However did you do that?" It works and soon we're all laughing again.

When we reach the center of town where the square is packed, the Peacekeepers prick our fingers and wipe them on a slide which they hand to a second Peacekeeper who carefully files them. Zack and I are ushered to the seventeen year old section and before long the mayor starts his speech. I zone out, this is something I hear every year, and instead think of the logistics to myself.

Gazette had applied for Tesserae countless of time this year, while Zack had never. I had only applied six or seven times since we were able to snatch the food we were supposed to be sending to the Capital every so often. So out of us three, Gazette was the most likely to be picked. But that wouldn't happen. There were thousands of other girls. But now I was worrying. I push away from Zack who shoots me a look to get a better view of the girl group. Gazette is standing there; she looks like she's about to cry as the orange haired escort, Natalie Chit, steps toward the reaping bowl, slowly putting her hand in.

"Eve Winters." Gazette's face breaks into a broad smile, although I know she'll feel sorry for the girl. The name registers in my mind. Eve Winters. The mayor's daughter. Extremely surprising. What was she, sixteen? Yes. No one would expect her to be the one to go into the Games. The Mayor's face is paling as Natalie introduces the newest girl tribute. She moves onto the boys.

I'm happy, despite myself. It seems that luck is with me. I shouldn't be happy, I know. But Gazette, the one with the most slips did not get picked, so why should Zack, or I for that matter? Perhaps my karma would catch up to me, but for now I didn't care. I waited, impatient for the celebration of not getting reaped. The taste of freedom already on my tongue.

But even as I thought this there was a slight tension where, for a split second, I though Zack's name would be called. But the worrying was irrational. The name Natalie said wasn't his. It wasn't his name that froze my blood, made me chill and shudder.

It was mine.

**I dont know, I hope it was suspenseful, or at least not boring! :3 Reviewing makes us want to update faster, even with finals. No reviews mean slower. :( You know you want too...**


	5. Chapter 5: Oranges Galore

**Ok, I was supposed to post this yesterday but, once again, internet was down. IDK we have a sort of love-hate relationship. Anyway this chapter is by TrackerJackson! Seriously, check her out, she has the most amazing stories.**

Rye and I are led through the train door, and away from the flashing cameras, I hardly notice the interior of the train; I was too busy hanging on to Rye. I did see a big plushy couch sitting by a huge silver television, much better than the kind I have at home. That one is so small, and, at times, the screen turns black and the audio cuts out.

I remember, last year, we missed the entire bloodbath of the Hunger Games, and the Peacekeeps monitoring the televisions to make sure people were watching caught us. While we were happy to miss the carnage, and it wasn't our fault, my family and I were still put in the District Prison for a night. It was cold, wet, and damp, and not at all pleasant.

Hestia's voice snaps me back to the present. "You and Rye need to go and get ready for dinner. Try the shower, and change clothes, and meet back in the dining cart. Your rooms are just down that hallway." She points to two doors, one for me, and one for Rye.

I thank her, and Rye and I walk down the hallway together. I know Hestia must have meant for us to go to our separate rooms, but, without talking about it, Rye and I both ended up in my room. I realize that this is the first time we have had time to talk—really talk—since we were both reaped.

Rye flopped onto my bed, and I sank into the plush armchair adjacent to the bed. I've come to terms with my death, and I have decided to try and enjoy what little time I have left with Rye. We look at each other for a while, unsure about what to say. He breaks the silence first.

"At the train station we agreed to be allies. I know I would never betray that, and I know that you wouldn't either. I think we just have to decide if we're going to have any other allies."

I think back to when I first saw the train, and I remember the television. "If we eat dinner, we could watch the other people's reapings on the television. Then, we can use that information to decide who else could be our allies."

Rye nods. "That sounds like a good plan. I'm going to go shower. Autumn told me that the pest part of the stay in the Capital is the showers, and I want to know what the big deal is."

I glance around the room, and I see a sliding door on the far wall. I assume that it leads into the bathroom. "Okay, but be careful. With some of the movements of the train, it could be really easy to slip and fall. Going into the Games with a concussion might lesson our odds just a _little_ bit."

Rye laughs, and gets up to leave. I have a sudden urge to tell him how much I like him. I open and close my mouth a few rimes before I work up enough courage to tell him how I feel. _Slam_! The door shuts behind him, and I'm left whispering _I love you_ to the cold, wooden door.

I sit on the bed for a while, admiring my room. The walls are a light blue, with white wicker chairs. The whole room is lit up with a soft glowing light emitting from slowly swinging chandelier on the ceiling.

After a few minutes, I decide to try the shower. I've taken plenty of showers back at home, and there's nothing fun about them. The cold water barely trickles out from the showerhead, and everyone tries to finish their shower as fast as possible.

Looking through the closet, I select some loose black pants, and an oversized pink shirt, and carry them into the bathroom.

Without even stepping into the shower, I can already tell that Rye is right: This shower is fabulous.

The outside is made of solid glass, and I don't know how I would get in, until I touch the side. My hand easily passes through it like air, and I jump back, startled. Testing it again, I pick up a washcloth from the side of the sink, and throw that at the shower. It hits the glass with a _shunk_, and falls to the ground.

I take off my reaping dress, inhale the fading scent of oranges, and step into the shower. My body once again passes through the glass with ease. I turn around, and face the rest of the shower.

My mouth drops open. I had been so distracted with the disappearing glass that I had failed to notice the hundreds of buttons, faucets and microphones attached to the side of the shower.

"Wow!" I whisper. The microphone nearest to me slides into the wall, and it is replaced by a speaker. A cold, computerized voice emits from it, and echoes around the shower.

"You have selected W.O.W; Washover Watermelon."

The tiles above my head slide away, and a mist floats down from the grate above. It moves on its own, and it wraps itself around my body, almost suffocating me with its watermelon scent.

I choke out into the microphone, "Stop!"  
The mist dissolves, and I breathe heavily for a few moments, relishing the clean air. Then, I turn a dial to the right, and warm water falls from the showerhead behind me. I lean into it, savoring the feeling against my shoulders.

It reminds me of the days in the orchard, when I would help my dad pick the oranges. Sometimes, light spring rain would fall, dusting dad, the oranges, and I. We would tilt our heads up to the sky, and watch as the sunlight refracted through the drops of water.

The mist slowly falling towards me reminds me of those afternoons. I let myself relax in the shower for a while, watching the water run off my body, erasing the painful memories of the day. Still unsure how to use the shower, I slowly lean forward and timidly whisper "oranges" into the microphone. A tray slid out from the wall, with a sudsy sponge that smelled of oranges inside of it.

I took my time washing myself, being careful not to let the sponge snag the guava necklace from Maize. After I finish the shower, and turn off the water, I step out, cringing against the sudden breeze of cold air.

I reach across to the towel rack, where a fluffy purple towel hangs. I pick it up, wrap it around my body, and am surprised to find out that it is heated. I let the warm fluffiness embrace me, as I make my way over to the other corner of the huge bathroom. By the counter, there it a metal sphere, and, if I place my hands flat on it, it will dry and untangle my hair for me. I admire my long brown hair flat on my back in the mirror, and wrap it around my finger. I will miss certain things about being alive.

I'll miss the way Maize and I would meet up on the way to school. I'll miss the way the sun shines through the branches of the fruit trees, and the smell of oranges in the air. I'll miss Rye's crooked smile when I say something stupid. I'll miss the bedtime stories my parents would still read to me, even as I got older.

Suddenly I realize something: I don't want to die. I'm not quite ready to give up yet.

Slipping on my shirt and pants, I pad barefoot to the dining cart to find Rye already sitting at the table, hungrily eyeing the plates of food. I know why: We both belong to the poorer area of District Eleven—the part that has to worry about where their next meal will come from. I take a moment to just watch him.

His shaggy brown hair needs a cut; it keeps falling into his brown eyes, but his chin is strong and well-defined. I take a step forward, and my foot makes a _schloop_ noise when it comes off from the metal floor.

Rye turns when he hears me.

"Hey there! I see you took a shower. I was right, wasn't I? Isn't it very relaxing?

I playfully shove him. "Don't be a know-it-all! Autumn was the one who told you it was fun!" I laugh, to make sure he knows I'm only joking.

He smiles, and as if on cue, Autumn and Sage walk in. Autumn sees Rye and I smiling, and smiles. "Judging by your cheerful faces and dry and straight hair, I'm assuming you both took a shower? They were always the best part about my visits to the Capital."

Autumn has long red hair kept in a low ponytail, and green eyes, a trait almost never seen in District Eleven. Those characteristics are seen more in District Seven. Sage, however, had the traditional District Eleven brown eyes, brown hair, and tan skin.

Rye answers Autumn. "Yes, we did, and you were right! I didn't know how to work it, so I think I smell like a combination of lemon and bubblegum."

Everyone likes, and we take turns sniffing. He's right—he does smell weird. Proud that I figured it out, I turn to him. "All you had to do is say the scent you wanted into the microphone."

Rye smells me, and grins. "Who's the know-it-all know? I assume the oranges are because of the grove by your house?"

Rye knows me so well. I grin, and nod. Just then, Hestia arrives, and claps her hands. "Good, you are already here. The Avoxes will be here shortly, and then we can begin eating. First, I want to talk to you all about the schedule.

Tonight we will eat, watch the recaps, and will reach the Capital at around eleven o'clock tonight. Then, tomorrow, you will be woken up early, go to your stylist for the day, and then have the chariot rides at night. Does anyone have any questions?"

Rye and I look at each other, and I am the one to answer Hestia. "No. No, I think we're okay."

Hestia looks pleased. She snaps her fingers and several Avoxes march into the room. They march over to the table, and carry the platters of food to us.

The first course is chicken, served with lemon, and cooked in a creamy butter sauce. I nudge Rye. "Smells like you," I joke, and he laughs, his mouth too stuffed with food to respond. I follow his lead, and stuff my face with the wonderful chicken.

Soon—too soon—the chicken is replaced with a hearty broth with beans, beef, and carrots cooked to the perfect consistency.

I make the mistake of taking a spoonful tight away, burning my tongue on the scalding hot liquid. My mouth hurts so much; I can hardly taste the next course: small fruit-shaped jellies on top of toasted bread. Thankfully, by the time dessert comes, I can taste again.

I am served a small plate, with five chocolates on them. I've only ever had chocolate once: they year Autumn won the Hunger Games. The Capital came, and threw sweets out into the street, and I was able to grab a chocolate bar amidst the hordes of adults screaming with delight. I can still remember the creamy and sweet feel of it melting in my mouth.

These chocolates, however, don't look like the chocolate bar from so many years ago. I tentatively bite one of them in half, and almost giggle with happiness. I don't know how the Capital did it, but there are small peppermint flavored chocolate fruits nestled inside each chocolate.

Autumn sees me looking at them in wonder. "They do it because you're from District Eleven. They think it will make you feel more 'at home'."

I laugh with her, not wanting to admit that it _does_ make me feel closer to home. I take my time slowly eating each chocolate, savoring the taste of the fruits from back home. I save the orange one for last, feeling free as I pierce the orange flavored chocolate.

I spend the rest of the dinner in a coma, stuffed and tired from the bounty of delicious food. After everyone else is finished with their meal, Hestia excuses Rye and I to our rooms, making sure we know to "be back in the television room in less than an hour for the reaping recaps."

Rye and I pass the time lying on his bed, groaning about our full stomachs, and the rich food. We both know, though, that we will never turn down a plate of hearty food, no matter how full we are.

Rye and I start talking after about half an hour. He rolls his head so he is facing me, and smiles. I curiously ask him, "What are you thinking about?"

He looks at me a moment longer, and responds, "The day I first met you. I remember it very clearly. We both started working at the packing plant the same day as each other, and I was nervous. I remember being furious I was paired up with a _girl_! There was no greater injustice in my small mind. You were very talkative, and kept me from messing up several times that day. I went home, and told my mom that "there was a girl, but she wasn't stupid like a girl. She was a boy-girl."'

I laugh harder than I have ever laughed. "You told your mother I was a _boy-girl!_"

He smiles bashfully. "It sound stupid in retrospect, but I assure you, it was the highest of compliments. Remember, I _hated_ girls back then."

Still laughing, I turn to him. "Am I still a boy-girl?"

Rye grins. "I don't know. Do you like being a boy-girl?"

I playfully punch him in the arm. "I guess. All I've ever wanted if for someone to think of me as a boy-girl."

When Rye tilts his head back to laugh, he notices the clock on the wall. "It's already ben an hour! We better get to the television room or else Hestia will be mad at us."

We walk down the hallway together, and reach the television room just as Hestia walks in. "I'm glad you two were on time. I brought a notepad and a pencil, so you guys can take notes on the other tributes."

Rye and I gratefully accept the pencil, the pad of paper, and we turn to the television. Suddenly, we hear Hestia shout in distress. "Oh no! I got the time mixed up! The show started half an hour ago! Quick, turn it on!"

Rye, who is closest to the remote, flicks the television on. The words 'District Six' flickers across the screen in black letters. I turn to Hestia. "We've missed half of the reapings! What should we do?"

"Don't worry guys. After we finish watching the reapings, we can look up the other tributes, of the other recap channels."

While it's not an ideal solution, Rye and I agree.

We watch the escort prance onto the stage, and select two names from the bowls. "Your District Six tributes are…Kiva Cooper and Aston Byke!"

I look at Rye. "Both of them look like bloodbath tributes."

Both of the tributes are crying and shaking on the stage. Rye agrees, and we watch District Seven appear on screen.

A strong boy, Grover, and a girl, Ava, are reaped. Ava is most likely a bloodbath tributes, but Grover look strong. I pencil a star next to his name, marking him as a potential ally. I look over to see Rye doing the same thing.

In District Eight, Lacey and Flax were reaped. Once again, I mark a star down, but this time, next to Lacey's name. Flax also looks strong, but he looks like the kind of person who would stab you in the back at a seconds notice.

Rye looks at my paper. "I put down Flax as an ally. Did you?"

"I didn't. He looks a little shifty. He might be a good ally, but I would hate to risk everything for him."

Rye erases Flax's name from his sheet. "You're right. But I do think Lacey will be a good ally."

So far Rye and I have found two potential allies, but something is bothering me. "You know Rye; we really should see how they do it training. They could be the nicest tributes in the Capital, but we don't want any allies who can't fight."

Rye sighs. "You're right. I feel bad for the other tributes, but that doesn't mean we should sacrifice each other for it."

We watch District Nine, where neither Gwyneth nor Barric look like they will survive the bloodbath, much less make it on the ally list. However, in District Ten, there is a strong boy, Jonas, and a girl, Eve who looks fairly strong. Rye and I decide that we won't ally with her, because she looks like she might not make it past the Bloodbath, and we won't ally with him, because he looks too dangerous.

For me, watching my reapings is torture. I look like a pathetic little girl when I run to Rye. I'm guessing that every other tribute watching this has me pegged as a bloodbath death.

Rye, on the other hand, looks strong, confident, and ready to fight. I remind myself what I told myself while in the shower: I am going to fight to end of either the Games, or my life. The people who call me a bloodbath tribute better watch out, because they won't be expecting it when I kill them.

District Twelve yields one potential ally: A boy named Ash, and one potential bloodbath tribute: Brooke.

Rye turns off the television, and we sit in silence. We can't say for sure, but the last half of the tributes didn't look like that much of a threat. We also have three potential allies: Grover, Lacey, and Ash. Rye turns and looks at me. "I guess all that's left is to see what the other tributes are like."

We start to change the channel, but a light from outside the window stops us. "Look!" I cry to Rye. "We're at the Capital!"  
We rush to the window and stare outside, but once the original wonder wears off, we know what we have to do. Rye's smile fades, and he looks at me. "Time to play the game, Willow."

I wave, and blow kisses out the window to the countless of Capitolites standing there. They respond with cheers and chants of my name, "Willow! Willow!"

Once we pull into the station, Hestia leads us out of the train, and we descend into the thousands of alien faces below.

_Be calm. _I tell myself. _They love you. _I step onto the carpet, and begin the long walk to the house.

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